


Have Yourself a Merry Holmes Christmas

by E_J_Morgan



Series: Q-niverse AU [25]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Q is a Holmes, Teenage!Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 00:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_J_Morgan/pseuds/E_J_Morgan
Summary: Q-niverse AU - Christmas in difficult times; Holmes-style





	

  * No.
  * _Benedict---_
  * I said: no! It’s Christmas in two days, Sherlock. I won’t give you any more intel about Moriarty’s web until after the holidays. All of us need a little down-time to gather energy. Even you.
  * _I don’t! I want to work. It’s boring without work. Just give me something!_
  * I give you a holiday.
  * _But what should I do here?_
  * Well, Italy is supposed to be beautiful. If I were you I’d surely have a look around. Florence is just a few miles away from where you are right now. Have you been there at all? It has the Piazzale Michelangelo, the Piazza del Duomo with the Duomo itself, the Piazza della Signora, the Palazzo Vecchio, the---
  * _Who cares about all of these, when I should be hunting for remaining members of Spectre!?_
  * \--- the Palazzo Pitti, Boboli Gardens, Forte di Belvedere---
  * _Did you swallow a travel guide?_
  * I’m going to book you a comfortable, central-situated hotel so that you can visit everything just by walking and using public transportation. How often do you get the opportunity to travel on Government’s money? And I’m sure it’s especially beautiful around Christmas time; there are supposed to be lots of Christmas markets all around the city.
  * _I hate Christmas._
  * You won’t hate it now.
  * _Yes, I will._
  * All right then; suit yourself. You are allowed to suffer in Florence all you want. See if I care.
  * _You’re cruel._
  * I’m glad we have finally established that. So, I’m going to send you all your tickets and bookings onto your cell. We’ll talk on Christmas Eve.
  * _Why? Are you going to tell me some news about Spectre then?_
  * No, Sherlock. It’s because we’re family, and families greet each other on Christmas.
  * _Oh… And if they don’t, then it’s a ‘bit not good’?_
  * More than a bit, actually…
  * _All right then. Tell Mycroft to expect my call on Christmas._
  * Really? – He failed at hiding his surprise and of course Sherlock just needed to point it out…
  * _Why, little brother, one would get a feeling you don’t think I’m human._
  * You now, at times like that, I can nearly believe you are… Well, okay, then on Christmas Eve, and until then do what you see fit to do with your free time.
  * _Hopefully there are some unsolved crimes to clear in Florence…_
  * You’re sick… Just do me a favor and don’t get arrested for bothering the local police or something like that! I, for one, want to have a little peace for a few days. Pull any such stunts and I might decide to leave you there for the time being.
  * _You wouldn’t._
  * Of course I would: just ask any of my agents.
  * _They’re not YOUR agents even if you are---_
  * Good bye, brother.



 

The boy quickly disconnected the call in order not to have to argue with his brother so close to Christmas.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

“Do you have plans for Christmas, son?” – Asked Tanner carefully on the next day, entering the Quartermaster’s office, clearly a bit unsure: not wanting to hurt the ‘grieving’ boy’s feelings but also wishing to make sure he wouldn’t sit home alone, feeling sad and depressed.

 

“Well, Eve has informed me I’m not allowed to get out of MI6’s Christmas party… So evidently that’s what I’m going to do tomorrow, on Christmas Eve.”

 

“And on Christmas Day and Boxing Day?”

 

“Well, I’ll have to visit Mycroft on one day (probably Boxing Day), and I would also like to talk to Doctor Watson… He must be feeling very lonely now. He’s still grief-stricken.”

 

“It’s not easy on anyone, especially you. Nobody would fault you if you weren’t the one comforting him for losing a friend. _You_ lost a brother.”

 

“I know that, but… We; that is to say: Mycroft and I; owe it to Sherlock to not let his first and best friend waste away…”

 

“All right. But I would like you to be with me on Christmas Day. It’s a tradition for us already and I am hoping not to break it this year either. Just because you’re seventeen now, you shouldn’t be too old for my turkey, I hope?”

 

“Of course not! I can’t wait.” – It really was a tradition and the boy didn’t wish to change it.

 

Bill seemed very relieved and happy. He was actually whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like ‘Jingle Bells’ as he was leaving Q-Branch.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

His minions had really outdone themselves this year. Q had to blink a few times when he entered Q-Branch early morning on December 24, and found the whole place covered with stockings, wreaths, garlands, mistletoe and other kinds of eccentric Christmas decorations.

 

He let Pixel and Confetti out of their cat carrier so that they could explore this new spectacle. They darted away at once enthusiastically with a happy meow. If they should happen to break a few of the ornaments on the lower level of the huge Christmas tree that had been situated in the middle of the room, no problem: there would still remain more than enough in the boy’s opinion.

 

R came to meet him at the door, looking slightly worried.

 

“Overlord, I hope you don’t mind… We couldn’t help ourselves… But we’ll keep it all down if it’s bothering you this year. We would understand, honestly.”

 

Q looked around and all were watching him with regret, as if already having second thoughts about what they had done in the presence of a grieving person. He smiled at their thoughtfulness.

 

“No, it’s okay. I think what I need is exactly a happy environment now. Good job with the room by the way!”

 

“Thank you!” – Beamed R. – “We came in two hours earlier than usual to get it ready by the time we have to start working.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Boss!” – Shouted one of the minions. – “Would some Christmas music be too much…? It wouldn’t hinder work, I swear!”

 

The teenager had to stop himself from laughing out loud. His trained, professional workers were like children indeed! Even Pixel and Confetti seemed to look at him hopefully. What could he say against such opposition?

 

“No, Isaac, it’s fine. If it won’t keep your minds from your tasks then I certainly don’t mind it.”

 

“Yupeee!”

 

Soon the first words of ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ filled the room from every speaker as Q made his way into his office, shaking his head fondly.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

“Hi, Alec, what’s up?” – Asked the teenager the nervous-looking agent who had just entered his office, behaving uncharacteristically fidgety. – “Is everything all right or is something wrong?”

 

“Oh… Yes, yes… Of course…

 

“Which one is ‘of course’? – You should never ask two opposite things at once.

 

“What? Well… Ahm…”

 

Q narrowed his eyes; feeling instantly suspicious.

 

“Did you set something on fire again?”

 

“Ahm… No?”

 

“Then something exploded?” – Guessed the boy.

 

“I wish!”

 

Now the teenager felt really confused.

 

“Then why are you sweating and shaking?”

 

“I’m not!” – Answered the man too quickly and flopped down onto the couch with an undignified ‘thud’. – “I…” – He coughed. – “I would like to ask a favor of you.”

 

Q turned around with his swivel chair to fully face the spy.

 

“And what would that be, 006? I will state in advance I’m not making you any fireworks as a Christmas present so that you can wreak havoc on New Year’s Eve!”

 

“That’s not what I wanted to ask… Thought it’s a good idea… Are you sure there’s no way I could convince you to do that?”

 

“I’m absolutely sure, so I suggest you go on with whatever you wanted to say originally.”

 

“All right. Remember your older brother’s assistant? That beautiful woman?”

 

“You mean Anthea?”

 

“Exactly her, yes.”

 

“Of course I remember her. She’s been with our family for ages. What about her?”

 

“But she’s really not related, is she? She said she wasn’t…” – The agent wanted to clarify.

 

“No, Alec, she isn’t. She is just an assistant, honest.”

 

“Good.” – The man had the nerve to not even try to hide his relief. – “Then make her say yes to a date with me! Please!”

 

“WHAT!? No way!”

 

“Please! Please, please! She’s wonderful and unique and---“

 

“Very busy, a lone wolf and dangerous.”

 

Trevelyan blinked a few times.

 

“Yes, well, that too. But I want to try to charm her!”

 

“And you need my help with that because…?”

 

“Because I don’t have her number, nor do I know where she lives and I’m not brave enough to look for her when she’s with your brother.”

 

“Oh, the famous womanizer is frightened!” – Laughed Q mirthfully.

 

“Hahaha. You can make fun of me as much as you want, but please, Q, I beg you: help me! It has turned out that James can make a relationship work, so it shouldn’t be impossible for me either. And should I remind you that you helped him as well?”

 

That was true, there was no denying it… He had helped Bond by getting a job at MI6 for Madeleine, thus ensuring they would have a common ground for their life together. And no secrets. That’s very important. The boy sighed meekly.

 

“All right. I’ll do what I can but bear in mind: no guarantees. I have never seen her interested in anyone in all these years I’ve known her. She might turn out to be just as antisocial as my brothers.”

 

Alec jumped up and enveloped the flabbergasted boy into a tight hug.

 

“You’re a god!”

 

So, for lack of any better option, he called the unfortunate woman as soon as Alec left the office, singing all the way out of Q-Branch ‘I Saw Alec kissing Anthea’ loudly.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

The Christmas Party MI6 Edition was a hit! Everyone was gathered in Q-Branch, eating, drinking and singing. Q didn’t know how his terrain had become the unofficial party-scene but since his birthday it had never been questioned anymore where they would set up the Christmas tree that year.

 

Even the kittens had gotten new fluffy pillows to make their cat beds more comfortable for them and one of the minions had brought special exclusive cat food which they had attacked vigorously right away. (“Now they’ll be spoiled and won’t want to eat anything else anymore!” – Lamented the boy.)

 

Someone (probably Moneypenny, though she had never admitted to it) had set Paddington Bear onto the table next to the enormous traditional Christmas chocolate cake, and exchanged his hat for a red bow. The teddy didn’t seem to mind it at all.

 

Even M appeared to be absolutely relaxed as he was talking with Tanner and a few department heads over their plum puddings. It was evident they weren’t talking about anything work-related by the way they gesticulated and made movements imitating a baseball game.

 

The minions had started a ‘Pin the red nose on Rudolph’-game. Sarah seemed to be winning so far; well, at any rate, she was the only one who hadn’t jabbed herself with the pin yet.

 

Madeleine, R and Moneypenny were trying to guess the contents of the Christmas stockings with the agents betting on their success. Madeleine swore she would win, given her profession which meant she knew people very well. She claimed to be able to say what was suited for a certain person. But secretly, Q was sure that Eve would emerge victorious. And she didn’t even need any hidden talents for that at all, since as M’s personal secretary, she had surely been the one actually making the arrangements for all the gifts. The little cheat had naturally forgotten to mention that to her opponents.

 

Everyone noticed Alec not eating anything at all. How could they not have? The agent was famous for having an appetite that would put an elephant to shame.

 

Q, deciding that enough was enough, walked over to talk to him.

 

“Alec, what’s the matter?”

 

“I’m just nervous. You know why…” – Whispered 006, looking around carefully as if to make sure nobody was listening in on their conversation.

 

The teenager knew the man had to make an effort no to ask about what he had been able to achieve with his ‘future wife’. Appreciating the sentiment, he patted Alec on the one shoulder he could reach from that angle.

 

“Hey, it’s okay. It was not easy, mind you, but she is willing to give you a chance.”

 

“What? Are you sure? Really? Or are you just making fun of me? Is she---“

 

“What are your plans for New Year’s Eve?”

 

“Nothing…”

 

“Wrong. You’re going to meet Anthea at 6 PM in front of Holmes Manor. I’ll give you the address later. Then you’re going to take her to a restaurant where you will treat her to a candle lit dinner and soft music in the background. Then you’ll take her to dance. You wouldn’t guess it just by looking at her but she loves dancing.”

 

“How am I ever going to thank you for it?”

 

“Just by not messing it up. I like her very much and if you insult her in any way, she’s going to be angry with me for setting the two of you up. So, behave yourself, 006! Be a gentleman: she’s not a mark.”

 

“Yes, sir!” – Alec actually saluted him, then went to take an enormous piece of the traditional Christmas pudding and started eating it as if he had been starving for days. After a few bites he turned back to Q as if just remembering something, and said with full mouth: - “Just one more thing, Kitten. Can you teach me to dance?”

 

The boy had to fight the sudden urge to bang his head into the nearest wall.

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

The next day was spent at Tanner’s, like all the Christmas Days every year since he had joined MI6 as a small, scrawny 12-year-old. He still absolutely felt at home and relaxed there now that he was a small, scrawny 17-year-old. In all honesty: not much had changed.

 

Bill’s turkey was still unmatched in the whole world and Q even helped with the mashed potatoes and the red cabbage, even though everyone knew he was absolutely hopeless in the kitchen. Fortunately, Bill was a very patient teacher. Well, to a degree…

 

“No, no, son, stop! Do you have a grudge against those potatoes?”

 

“Ahm... No?”

 

“Then why are you torturing them like that? If they could, I’m sure they’d be screaming in pain.”

 

“Well, sorry, I’ve no idea how to mash them properly without applying strength. They’re very resistant.”

 

“No, they’re just not used to this brutal treatment. Look, I’ll show you.” – And he did. Q just blinked.

 

“All right, I admit: it _does_ look easier this way. But only because I’ve already exhausted them for you!”

 

Bill rolled his eyes.

 

“Just be gentle with them.” – He said, handling the bowl back to the boy. – “They’re already dead; there’s no need to kill them again.”

 

Q muttered ‘they’re just going to be the supper, what’s so important about them?’ under his breath which Tanner chose to ignore as they continued their respective tasks.

 

_‘One potato, two potatoes, three potatoes, four…’_

 

“Son, are you humming a children’s song?”

 

“Ahm… No?”

 

“Okay…”

 

_‘Five potatoes, six potatoes, seven potatoes, more…’_

 

Later, Q also helped set the table (he was much better at that, well, at least he didn’t break anything), and carry the food onto it.

 

“Good appetite. Tuck in!” – Was the cue Tanner gave to begin eating. Q didn’t have to be told twice this time.

 

“Hmmm… that’s very good. Have you ever thought about becoming a chef?” – Asked the boy around a big bite of turkey.

 

“Well, my ex used to make me cook a lot… I mean, when I was at home… I guess it wasn’t a lot then.”

 

“Her loss. My gain.” – He swallowed some side dish with gusto.

 

After dinner, they watched Home Alone, commenting on every scene, just like each year spent together (‘That’s just ridiculous. Totally improbable.’ ‘Did you see that? Try doing that for real!’ ‘Oh my God, I’m sure Hollywood has never seen real gadgets to think up things like that!’). They also did the washing up (Q had insisted he wouldn’t leave the dirty dishes for the man to clean alone), before the boy said goodnight and left.

 

As soon as he got home, he fed the kittens then called Sherlock.

 

  * Happy Christmas!
  * _Yeah… whatever. The same to you._
  * How is Florence?
  * _There hasn’t been a good murder for ages!_
  * That’s outrageous! What a city.
  * _Not even an attempted assassination in the last few years. Nothing at all._
  * Must be horrible living there. What about Christmas markets?
  * _Christmas is everywhere with lights, decorations, mulled wine… and people are generally very cheerful. I can’t stand it._
  * Try not to sound so disgusted about it when you call Mycroft. He would make fun of you mercilessly.
  * _Or maybe he’d understand me better; you seem to have gone soft. Did you tell him I’d call?_
  * No, I wanted it to be a surprise.
  * _Oh, it is going to be, make no mistake._
  * I’m sure I’ll hear about it.
  * _I’m sure you will. John…?_
  * I’ll visit him first thing tomorrow.
  * _Will you… I don’t know… help him not to feel so alone? He has always liked ridiculous things like celebrating special events like this._
  * Of course. Good bye, Sherlock and please: at least make an effort not to suffer too much. It’s Christmas.



 

After the phone call, he checked his e-mails. This time of the year was always so much calmer; for example, right now he only had 84 messages to download. Most of them junk mail he could delete right away. He always considered it an exceptionally good day when he didn’t have over a hundred demands to answer. Funnily, there was also an e-mail waiting for him on an account that hadn’t been used for a while. It went like that:

 

_‘Hi, Danny. How are you? I’m sorry I haven’t written for so long… Well, I just wanted to wish you a very merry Christmas and a happy new year. I hope you’re not angry with me… I hope you’ll answer. Bye. Annabel’_

 

Now what was there to write to that? He couldn’t very well say that his flat had been exploded or that his brother had committed suicide… ‘I’m fine’ didn’t sound enough. What should he do?

 

The old problem all over again… Did Annabel have to torture him when she already had a new boyfriend and lived ‘happily ever after’?

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

The next day, Q arrived to John’s new ‘home’ at 10 AM. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for the older man to open it.

 

“Benedict, hi! I didn’t know you were coming. What happened?”

 

“Nothing, Doctor Watson: it’s Christmas. I came to celebrate it with you. Would you help me carry the tree from the car inside?”

 

John looked at the boy as if he feared he was out of his mind.

 

“The what from where to where?”

 

“Tree. Car. Inside. Come on!” – The boy grabbed the doctor’s arm and pulled him out into the bitter cold weather. – “We should hurry up. It’s freezing!”

 

“Benedict, where is that car from and how did it get here?”

 

“Why, I drove it here of course. (“You did WHAT!?”) Or did you expect me to bring the tree on my shoulders?” – He opened the trunk and pointed at the middle-sized pine tree lying in there, happily waiting for them to set it up. – “Come on, grab one side!”

 

John was too stunned to do anything else but obey the boy. Together they somehow got the tree into the small space without much difficulty. Q instructed to man to wait for a moment and ran back out to get the adjustable stand along with an enormous bag full of decorations and who knew what else, and to lock the car up. Not that anyone would dare steal a Government car.

 

Once inside again, he put the bag and the car keys down, and then they started working on setting the tree.

 

“I think it looks best this way. Yes. This angle is optimal.” – Mused the boy.

 

“Benedict, what is the meaning of this?” – Asked John gesturing around as soon as he was able to release the tree without fear of it falling onto the dining table.

 

“Well, I think that the tradition of setting a Christmas tree originates way back from the ancient times, with the evergreen being the symbol of life and---“

 

“That’s not what I meant! What I wanted to know is---“

 

But Q suddenly thrust the bag into his hands to occupy him, effectively halting the man’s questioning.

 

“Hold it, please. We need to string the lights first. Actually, I think you should do it; you’re taller than I am.”

 

John did it. What other option did he have? The boy seemed very determined and refused to stop even for a moment to talk things through. He also wouldn’t listen to reason so it was no use trying it.

 

“Are you satisfied?” – Inquired the doctor, still totally confused.

 

“Yes, good job! Now the ornaments and figurines. Oh, and look what I brought; I ordered them extra from abroad: these are called fondant-candy or ‘szaloncukor’ in Hungarian. They’re small pieces of fondant or other kinds of filling with different flavors, covered in chocolate and wrapped in shiny, colorful paper that can be hung on the tree. Later you may eat them as well of course. They’re supposed to be very good.”

 

“You had them delivered from Hungary? For me?”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But why? And how did you know I don’t have a tree?” – The boy just gave him a look that said it all without words. – “Right. Stupid question. You’re a Holmes after all. You can’t _not_ know.”

 

“We should put up decorations all around the flat as well. Here’s an Advent wreath. I bit late for it, I know, but it will still look good on the table and we can light the candles in the afternoon when the guests are going to be here.”

 

“The _guests_?”

 

“Yes, of course! What did you expect?”

 

“Not that for sure…” – Muttered John, looking around frantically as if searching for an escape. Not finding one that hadn’t been blocked entirely by the obviously crazy boy’s things, he settled on asking instead: - “And may I inquire who all will be coming? Because that’s a very small flat even without a tree standing in the middle of it you know.”

 

“Not many, don’t worry. Just DI Lestrade, Miss Hooper, Mrs. Hudson, Bond and Mycroft.”

 

“Not many? Not _many_!?”

 

“Oh, come on, cheer up, doctor! We still need to make some sandwiches. I won’t even attempt to do anything more because I’m a catastrophe when it comes to cooking… But sandwiches will do. I have everything for them in the bag. Help me unpack, please.”

 

They worked on creating something edible for a time in silence. In the end, John spoke up:

 

“You’re so very much like to HIM, you know. It’s actually creepy.”

 

Q didn’t need to ask who ‘him’ was.

 

“You mean I’m as ingenious?”

 

“As headstrong and rude. If you want something, you don’t stop ‘till you do it, regardless of anything and anyone else.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I liked it in him even though I complained about it a lot. I’m not the kind of person who would go out to look for friends or even go to any lengths to keep in touch with anyone. Without your family, I think I’d be very lonely. Just like before…”

 

“You won’t ever be lonely, I can promise you this. I’ve told you a few times: once the Holmes family accepts you into the inner circle, there’s no getting out of it. And there’s also no reason why you shouldn’t keep the contact with all your other friends as well.”

 

“I don’t know… Funny how for all of his sociopathic tendencies it was really Sherlock who kept this team together. No idea how though.”

 

“Because of his way of charming everyone. You know, when I was a child, he would sometimes disappear for days. Even Mycroft didn’t know at times where to. Then he would emerge and bring a ‘friend’ with him. Of course, not the normal kind, mind you. A stray dog, a bird with a broken wing, a homeless man or a runaway teenager… whatever. The more unusual, the better.”

 

“Oh, dear. He did that in Baker Street. He had a whole ‘homeless network’ helping him with investigations.”

 

“Can’t say I’m surprised. I guess they were those ragged-looking blokes on the funeral?” – They finished the sandwiches and continued with forming chocolate coconut balls using further ingredients that had miraculously appeared from the teenager’s bag. John had remarked it was exactly like Santa Claus’ sack. – “I thought it better if we just use rum extract instead of the real thing. Some of us are driving home afterwards.” – He explained, showing John the little vial containing some kind of darkish colored liquid.

 

“Did you really drive here?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“But how? I never knew you even had a license.”

 

“I haven’t had it for long.” – Shrugged the boy. – “But I’ve been driving for years, don’t worry.”

 

John looked exasperated.

 

“How is that possible?”

 

“I work for MI6.” – Answered the teenager as if it explained everything. – “See, we have around 60 little coconut balls. Do you think it’s going to be enough? I mean, Mycroft is coming as well…”

 

“I think we’ll be fine.”

 

“Good, then let’s set the table. I brought paper plates and plastic utensils so that there won’t be much to wash up later. I don’t want to use up your warm water supply.”

 

“That’s very considerate of you.”

 

“Do you have more festive tablecloths?” – Q asked, indicating the dull gray table mat currently in use. It was quite dirty and torn in a few places.

 

“Ahm… no, sorry.”

 

“It’s okay. It’s a good thing I brought one with me then.”

 

“I will not ask how you knew to do it…”

 

**Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q – Q**

 

The guests arrived at 4 PM, all bringing drinks and cookies to share with everyone. They didn’t seem appalled by the way John was living (or possibly just didn’t want to show it), and were all behaving cheerfully, not looking angry about the doctor having all but abandoned them after Sherlock’s funeral.

 

John quickly found himself rather enjoying the gathering, having totally forgotten his initial reservations about the matter. He was also very happy having his old friend, James Bond there. For the first time since losing Sherlock, he felt really carefree again.

 

Q was glad about it: that had been his original intention after all, that had been the reason that he had done all these instead of staying at home with his cats and sleeping. God, he was so very tired! The last few weeks had been hell on him with helping Sherlock and doing his job in MI6 simultaneously.

 

His head was also beginning to hurt a bit from all the noise the people were making in the small confined place, so he chose to go out to the fresh air for a bit. He found Mycroft also outside, smoking a cigarette.

 

“It’s a disgusting habit.” – He remarked, walking towards the older man.

 

Mycroft turned halfway around to peer at his little brother, before taking another drag.

 

“Then I suggest you don’t try it ever.”

 

“Why not? You don’t seem to have a problem with it.”

 

“But you’re better than me.”

 

“That’s not true.” – Said the boy and extended his hand towards his brother in a silent invitation.

 

“Oh, no; forget it. I’m not going to give it to you.”

 

“Yes, you will.” – He quickly snatched the cigarette from Mycroft’s hand before the older man could have reacted at all.

 

The teenager took a puff and promptly started coughing violently, dropping the offending stump as if it had bitten his hand, falling to his knees at the same time.

 

“Jesus, Benedict, are you crazy?” – Asked Mycroft shaking his head, then crouched down to the trembling and still apparently drowning boy to see if he was all right.

 

“I di--- kkkhhh--- didn’t think it was---- kkkhhh--- that _horrible_!” – Lamented the boy with tears from pain in his eyes. His lungs were _burning_!

 

“I could have told you, had you not just grabbed it from me so suddenly.”

 

“I would--- kkkhh--- wouldn--- ohh--- kkkhhh----“

 

“Hey, easy, easy! Just take nice deep breaths. That’s it. I know very well you wouldn’t have believed me.”

 

“I can’t--- breathe---“

 

“Yes, you can. Just relax. You can save the insults for later, when you won’t want to pass out on me anymore.”

 

For once, Q took his brother’s advice to the heart and gradually started to feel better. Mycroft patted his back with loving exasperation, thinking to himself that his little brothers would be the death of him one day.

 

This unfortunate episode hadn’t helped the boy’s initial headache of course but at least he could breathe again. His attempt at getting up from the ground remained unsuccessful though. He huffed in frustration.

 

Some passersby shot him condemning looks, probably believing him to be drunk. He must have looked it at any rate. Fortunately, Mycroft scared them away with just a glare so they all scattered away quickly.

 

“Oh, God. Why would anyone willingly smoke? Does it get better on second try?”

 

“NO! Don’t even dare think about it, Benedict, I mean it!”

 

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t…” – He managed to get to his feet this time but still felt a little wobbly.

 

“Would you mind telling me why you felt it important to try a cigarette right now?”

 

“I don’t know…”

 

“You always know everything. You’re a genius.” – Q didn’t react. – “Benedict!”

 

“All right. I just thought… well… people say it’s relaxing. Of course I should have known that people are generally stupid…”

 

“Now you really sound like Sherlock. Listen to me: _sleeping_ is relaxing. _Eating_ regularly is relaxing as well. Doing something just for fun is relaxing. You don’t need to smoke for that.”

 

“You do.”

 

Mycroft sighed.

 

“You’ve never wanted to resemble me in anything. Why begin now?”

 

Q leaned against the wall tiredly.

 

“Because you’re really unaffected by all this shit that’s going on. You really are the Ice Man. I want to be like that.”

 

“No, you don’t. You’re Benedict Dominic Holmes. I’m Mycroft Holmes. We’re two different people. I want you to be _you_.”

 

“Haven’t you always said that caring was a disadvantage? How I should be more like the two of you and not pursue my childish dreams about having friends and a life outside of our house?”

 

“Well, I was wrong and you proved it ages ago in a very brutal, albeit certainly effective way. And don’t make me say it again: you know I don’t admit easily to being wrong.”

 

“That I know. I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“It’s not easy to always have to be the cheerful one.”

 

“Yes, I think I understand… But nobody expects it from you.”

 

“Yes, they do. These are dark times. Someone has to remain optimistic, we would all sink into depression otherwise.”

 

Mycroft knew the teenager was right. These were not easy times and right now the boy had to be the strong one for everyone’s sake. There was nothing he could say to help with it though because he knew he himself would be incapable of doing the same. He really was the Ice Man.

 

“I’m sorry; I honestly wish I could help you with that. But I can’t. I simply have no idea how to make others feel better.”

 

“I know. It’s all right. Oh, that reminds me: you need to let Anthea leave at 6 PM on New Year’s Eve.”

 

“Why would I need to do it? It’s a day just like any other.”

 

“Because she’ll have to meet her date at that time.”

 

“WHAT? Anthea? Date? Did the cigarette damage your brain that quickly?”

 

“Are you always that exceptionally funny or is it just because it’s Christmas, dear brother?”

 

“Are you serious? She has a date?”

 

“Yep. 006.” – He held up his hands in a placating way. – “Don’t say anything. You don’t know him like I do. He’s actually quite a nice guy when he wants to be.”

 

“Then I strongly advise him to want it.”

 

“I told him the same. Don’t worry: he knows I’ll kill him if he misbehaves.”

 

Mycroft had no doubt the boy could do it. This boy could do _anything_.

 

“All right. She can leave at six. But then I would like to ask a favor of you as well.”

 

“Why does everyone always want favors from me? Okay… What is it?”

 

“Just… please, don’t try to grow up too quickly.”

 

Q was taken aback. That was not what he had expected at all.

 

“What?”

 

“I mean just please, don’t start to smoke, don’t try to shoulder everyone’s problems all the time… generally just live a teenager’s life as much as possible. Do not rush ahead. You’ll have enough opportunities to be a grown up when the time will be right for it in a few years.”

 

“Oh…” – The boy didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Mycroft didn’t seem to be finished anyway.

 

“You’re the best of us three, you know.”

 

“What?”

 

“The best. You. Despite all my efforts; however unconscious and unintended they might have been; to ruin you when you were little… You still turned out to be the best person I’ve ever known. You didn’t let my misplaced attempts at child raising ruin you. So, don’t let this situation do it either. You’re stronger than that. You’re stronger than the two of us - me and Sherlock - put together. So, may we go back in now?” – He asked his little brother.

 

“Yeah… You won’t tell anyone about this little performance of mine, will you?” – The boy asked, meaning the smoking-fiasco.

 

The oldest Holmes brother sighed again.

 

“No, Benedict, I won’t.”

 

“I mean anyone…” – He was referring to Sherlock of course.

 

“I mean it like that, too.” – And Mycroft understood.

 

“Merry Christmas, Myc.”

 

The older man put his arm around the boy.

 

“Merry Christmas to you too, little brother.”

 

He steered the boy inside where they rejoined the party.

 

_The end_


End file.
